


Belonging

by JessamineHughes



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 21:49:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11299512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessamineHughes/pseuds/JessamineHughes
Summary: Anderson finally gets the promotion he's always wanted: to the BAU team. But what happens when he suddenly has a personal emergency?





	Belonging

_At the end of Season 7, Prentiss leaves the BAU to go back to Interpol. This story begins three months later._

 

 Anderson came down the stairs from the gallery toward a sea of expectant faces. The team was all there, every one of them, and Agent Hotchner, now standing behind him, had _smiled_ as he shook Anderson’s hand. Anderson reached the main floor and said, more confident and happy than he’d been in a long time, “Passed,” and added, “with flying colors.”

 

 “You made it!” Garcia squealed, and was the first to hug him. It was a little disconcerting, but not unexpected, and Anderson hugged her back. Then there was another hug, from JJ, and then he was shaking hands and getting smiles from Reid and Morgan, and last there was Rossi, with a firm embrace and a few words.

 

“Congratulations, son. We’re proud of you.”

 

Anderson managed to hide his habitual flinch at the word _son_ , and said, “Thank you. All of  you. Really.”

 

“You done good, man,” Morgan said. “Welcome to the team.”

 

That was what Agent Hotchner had said: _welcome_. It wasn’t something Anderson heard a lot, and it made him feel warm all over. He took a cue from the boss and smiled. Passing his probationary period with high marks, that made him feel good. Even better than getting high marks in the profiling classes three months ago and being taken immediately onto Agent Hotchner’s team. This team. Specifically.

 

“Okay, we’re going out for drinks and dinner,” Rossi said. “Oh, and you’re paying.”

 

Anderson didn’t mind in the least. He understood teasing when he heard it. He felt warm all over, again. “No problem,” he said cheerfully. “Tomorrow night at—”

 

He was interrupted. His phone was ringing—his cell phone—odd, since most of the people who used that number were standing in a happy cluster around him. He said, “’Scuse me, just a sec,” and checked the caller ID. Not his sponsor—

 

_Hold it._

 

He said, “Excuse me” to his new teammates and pushed his way through them and out through the doors to the elevator lobby. It was closer than the men’s room. Hands shaking, he pressed _Accept_ , and said, “Hello?”

 

A woman’s voice replied. He identified it at once, despite the thirteen years since the last time he’d heard it.

 

“Roo?” she said.

 

Only his sister had ever called him that. The sister he hadn’t seen since their twenty-first birthday. She was _calling_ him. Never mind how she’d gotten the number.

 

“Zizi?” he said unsteadily. “’Zat really you?”

 

“Dad died,” she said. “So will you come home now?”

 

Everything fell apart.

 

******************

 

Anderson had left the unit in a precipitate hurry, and Rossi, who was fond of the man he thought of as a youngster, never mind that he was older than Reid, watched him talking on his cell phone, then abruptly sitting down.

 

_I can’t let that go._ Rossi waved off the others and followed in Anderson’s wake.

 

“Son?” Rossi said. “You okay?”

 

Anderson turned his gaze upward, said, “Hang on, Zizi,” into the phone and said coolly to Rossi, “Don’t call me that.”

 

“I’m sorry. I just wanted to know if—”

 

“I’ll be fine if you leave me alone,” Anderson snapped. “This is private.”

 

Rossi raised his hands in surrender and backed away. Anderson glared at him until he turned around to go back into the unit. Even then there was silence behind Rossi until he was through the heavy glass door and back in the office.

 

“I don’t know,” he said to the others, in answer to the raised eyebrows and unspoken questions. The team looked as baffled as he felt. “I don’t know what it is, guys. He wouldn’t say anything except to more or less tell me to fuck off.”

 

“That’s not like him.” Hotch, coming down from the gallery. “What’s he doing?”

 

“Talking and looking walloped. He got a call on his cell and ran like a rabbit.”

 

“If he wants privacy, we give him privacy,” JJ said. “Especially since he obviously doesn’t want to be seen doing what he’s doing.”

 

“I agree,” Hotch said. “Let’s let him alone. And he’s one of us, so we treat him like we treat each other. No profiling.”

 

The team looked at each other uncertainly, and Hotch said, “Let’s get back to work. Dave, do you have a minute?”

 

The others dispersed slowly to their desks. Rossi followed Hotch up to the gallery and in the privacy of Hotch’s office said, “Do you know something?”

 

“No,” Hotch said. “I just wanted everyone to stop staring at him.”

 

_And you say you don’t know anything._ But they did have that rule against profiling team members, so Rossi didn’t say anything about it.

 

“Yeah,” he agreed, and headed back to his own office—trying, as he walked along the gallery, to peer through the unit doors and see what Anderson was doing, or perhaps _how_ he was doing, but all he could see was a turned back. Rossi chewed his lip and went into his office. But he left the door open.

 

**********************

“Zizi, I’m back, I’m sorry,” Anderson said. “He… _died_?”

 

“This morning,” his twin said. “He had pancreatic cancer.”

 

God, this was weird. Anderson didn’t know what to think. “You’re calling from the house.”

 

“Yeah. I was hoping you’d recognize the number.”

 

“Is Mom—” He swallowed. “Does she…” and he trailed off.

 

“You want to talk to her?” Zizi said, which answered one question of the multitude making Anderson’s head spin.

 

“I just wanted to ask if—if—” _If she’s still alive._ “Zizi, how did you get my number?”

 

“Harvey,” she said. “You remember him? Harvey Galenko?”

 

“You were dating him while we were at Rutgers.”

 

“I married him,” she said. “Big mistake. Long story. Does it matter? I just want to know if you’re coming home.”

 

“Does Mom want me?” Anderson said. _Do you?_ “No, never mind. I’m coming. Don’t move a muscle.”

 

“Okay,” she said, and Anderson ended the call, tucked his phone into his pocket, stood up, buttoned his jacket, straightened his tie, and went back into the BAU. Out of the corner of his eye he saw heads turning, but he had eyes only for the steps up to the gallery. It seemed like more than half an hour ago that he’d climbed them. He knocked on Agent Hotchner’s doorframe. The door itself was open.

 

“Sir? I—”

 

“Come in, Anderson. Is everything all right?”

 

“Sir, I hate to be doing this right after—after you—I mean, thank you. For everything. But I have to be in New Jersey. Now.”

 

“Go,” the boss said. “We’re on stand-down this weekend anyway. No, you don’t need to explain. Just go.”

 

“My job—”

 

“It’s secure. Don’t _worry_. Do what you need to do.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Anderson said, swallowing, and turned, and fled.

 

The elevator took too long to come. He raced down the fire stairs instead. In the lobby he checked for keys, wallet, and phone, and slammed out through the turnstiles and into the parking lot.

 

Into the hot late-August sun. That was all right. The air-conditioning in the car would cool him down. He gunned the engine and went. Three hours later he was pulling up in front of a house he could have driven to in the dark with his eyes closed.

 

He almost didn’t get out. But he’d promised. He got out, and it was six o’clock, and…

 

_Zizi_.

 

She was coming out of the house, running; he turned off the ignition and got out of the car, slamming the door, finding himself running towards her. The fact that there was a gate in the way hardly bothered him. It bounced off the hedge the way it always had, and then he was in her arms, shaking, crying, both of them crying, until she finally got her breath and said, “Come on inside, it’s boiling out here. And Mom’s waiting.”

 

_Mom._ He swallowed. Zizi took him by the hand and they went in, automatically going around the cracked spot where  Dad had never gotten around to fixing the cement. Zizi shut the door, and there was Anderson’s mother, tears pouring down her face, thirteen years older than she was supposed to look, throwing her arms around him.

 

“Baby. My baby. Oh, baby.”

 

There were very few people in the world who could call him that, and she was the only one from whom he would have permitted it.

 

“Mom,” he whispered into her hair. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

 

Eventually they both calmed down, and Zizi said, “I can go and get some iced tea. Or lemonade. Or something.” As if it were any ordinary summer evening. Mom nodded, though she was still crying, and Anderson said, “Yes, please,” though he wanted something considerably stronger than lemonade. Zizi disappeared into the kitchen, and Anderson said, “Mom, what happened?”

 

She sat on the tattered couch, wiping her eyes. “Like Lizzie said on the phone. He had cancer.”

 

“For how long?”

 

“They diagnosed it… I don’t know. A couple of months ago.”

 

“Only that? There wasn’t more time?”

 

“He had other problems, too. Liver, heart…” She sniffled, eyes red. Probably been crying all day, for various reasons. Anderson would have.

 

“Any plans yet?” Anderson said.

 

“No. We were—Lizzie wanted to wait for you.”

 

_Oh, God._ “What if you hadn’t found me?”

 

“Harvey already gave us your number. Yesterday. I wanted to call you then, but Lizzie said no. I don’t know. Maybe she was right.”

 

She looked numb. In shock. Anderson would have been.

 

“How does Harvey have what it takes to get hold of my number? My cell number, yet?”

 

“Well, you weren’t in any directory,” Mom said. “So we asked. Your sister did, that is, when she went over to take the kids to him yesterday morning. He works for the IRS.”

 

And Anderson, dutiful, law-abiding citizen, filed his taxes every year. And of course Mom would have his Social Security number. And his cell number was on his Form 1040.

 

“You don’t mind, Grant darling, do you?” Mom said. “I mean…”

 

“No. Shh, Mom, it’s okay.” _I don’t know how long I can stay here, but I don’t mind knowing you and Zizi are all right._ “… hold it, ‘kids’?”

 

“Twins,” she said. “Boy and girl. Just like you and your sister.”

 

_I’m an uncle? Twins. Runs in the family, right?_ “She said it was a long story, about her and Harvey?”

 

“Got married, had kids, got divorced.”

 

Ah. So she’d retained some sense. He didn’t see Harvey Galenko as a long-term mate for Zizi. _Although, I don’t know, there might be things I don’t know about her anymore._ Which shook him to the core. She was his twin baby sister, and they’d always known everything about each other.

 

Zizi came back with a cold pitcher and tumblers. Anderson said, “Did Harvey mention where I work?”

 

“No,” Zizi said. “Not even where you live. I mean not even the area. All I know about that is it’s somewhere within three hours’ drive. Can’t be too far to the east unless you swam here, but… oh, God, Roo, please don’t tell me you’ve been living near us all this time?”

 

“No. I live in Virginia. I work there, too. Just south of D.C. I left straight from the office about two seconds after you called.”

 

“Three hours from northern Virginia?”

 

“I was driving pretty fast.”

 

He felt numb. He sipped iced tea, felt like he was going to throw up, sipped more slowly. Dad. Dead. And Mom and Zizi with him all this time.

 

“Roo?” his sister said uncertainly. “You okay?”

 

“Just… feeling weird. I can’t really believe this is happening. I thought I’d… I didn’t know if I was ever going to see you again.”

 

“It’s not your fault,” Zizi said. “It’s okay, Roo, it’s not your fault.”

 

_No? I’m the man of the family—at least, I am now—so wasn’t it my responsibility to see to things? Never mind I was only twenty-one?_

 

“Excuse me,” he said, putting his glass down and being grateful for not having to ask the way to the bathroom. He just made it there before he did throw up, not that there was much to come up. Lunch had been light, a salad and tea, because he’d been so nervous about the three-month review. So he was done almost as soon as he got there; but he kept retching until he started to cry again. He found that Zizi wasn’t far behind him.

 

“Roo? Any more?”

 

He shook his head, which was a mistake; it set him retching again. He felt Zizi’s cool hands on his forehead and heard her gently encouraging him to sit up, lean back against the wall, and… “Here. Let me get that tie off. Hey, and a nice suit, too. You must work someplace fancy.”

 

He’d worn the nice suit because of the review with the boss. “FBI,” he said muzzily, as she worked his tie loose and carefully unbuttoned his jacket. “I work for the FBI.”

 

“Seriously? That’s great. You chase bad guys, or are you more on the counterfeiting side of things?”

 

“That’s the Secret Service. Or it was. They belong to Homeland Security now. Treasury does its own counterfeiting hunting. Um,” he said. “I chase bad guys.”

 

“What kind?”

 

“I’m with the BAU. Um, the Behavioral—um, we chase serial killers.”

 

“Wow, Roo.” She smiled at him, hanging his jacket and tie over the back of the old wooden chair. “Are you for real?”

 

“I just made the unit. Today.”

 

“Today?” She stopped. “Today?”

 

“I mean… three months ago, really. Today was my review, to see if I passed my probation.”

 

“And you did?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And then I called you, and…  your boss didn’t mind you just ran off like nobody’s business?”

 

“I’m not sure what he said. I don’t really remember anything between you asking if I was coming home, and getting here.”

 

“Here,” she said, dropping two tablets into a glass and swirling the water till it fizzed. “Alka-Seltzer.”

 

He had a brief thought of why there was such an abundant supply of the stuff, and it nearly made him throw up again, but he got a grip on himself, slowly and carefully sipped the fizzy water, asked at random, “What did you name them? The kids, I mean.”

 

She smiled. “Andrew and Zelda.”

 

“That’s our middle names.”

 

“I was thinking of you,” she said mournfully, and burst into tears. “I’m sorry, Roo, I’m sorry, I wanted so badly to call you, then, but I didn’t know how…”

 

“Shh.” He hugged her. “Shh, it’s okay.”

 

“They’re nine. Andrew was born first. About five minutes first. Just like us.”

 

He smiled for the first time since her phone call. “Mom said you took them to Harvey?”

 

“I’ve got custody, but it’s pretty amicable, all things considered. When it was obvious Dad was going to die soon, I took them over to Harvey’s for the duration.”

 

The twins were nine, and it was almost Labor Day. “Don’t tell me,” he said, “they’re about to have Mrs. Appleton for fourth grade.”

 

Zizi burst out laughing, wiped her wet face with her hand. “Yeah. Almost. I mean, yes, on Tuesday. She retired last year, though.”

 

“She must have been pretty young when we had her, but you wouldn’t have known it by the snarky things we said about her.”

 

“Andrew and Zel say snarky things about their teachers. I don’t think they’re all that different from us.”

 

He finished the Alka-Seltzer. “Help me up?”

 

“You okay?”

 

“I will be. Where does Harvey live?”

 

“You going to go over there and shoot him for knocking me up?”

 

“No, I left my weapon at the—did he?”

 

“Yeah, but not till after we were married.”

 

“Zizi, I was joking. I wouldn’t have cared.”

 

“You want to see them?”

 

“Yes.” He stood up, carefully testing for dizziness. Nope, none. But he’d better eat something soon. “I hate to distract from meeting them, and it’s kind of a crude question at a time like this, but is there any food in the house?”

 

“Mom hasn’t been eating much. I moved back in when Dad got sick.”

 

Which answered one question. Left a lot more, though.

 

“Anyway,” she said, “I think there’s some eggs and stuff. Let’s go see.”

 

*************************

 

By the time the omelet was ready, he regretted asking for it. He choked most of it down with his mother and sister sitting silently by him. Neither of them were eating. He finally said, “Thanks. Listen, though… plans…”

 

“I’ve been thinking,” Mom said, and started to say something else, but the phone rang. Zizi got up to answer it.

 

“Oh, hey, Harvey. How are they doing?... Yes. Yes, I did, and he’s here. Right here. I can’t thank you enough… Yes, I told him. He wants to see them… No, not tonight, they should be going to bed soon. Let me talk to them, okay?”

 

Anderson got up and took his dishes to the sink, rinsing them automatically before he noticed there was a new dishwasher that looked like it probably didn’t need things rinsed. Relatively new, anyway. Maybe five years old, so maybe they’d kept that impossible old thing for eight years after he…

 

_I’m not going to think about that._

 

When Zizi put the phone down, she said, “The kids are going to bed. You can see them tomorrow. Um… that is,” she said, and stopped.

 

“I can’t stay the night,” he said hurriedly. “Not if there’s going to be a funeral and things. I’ve got to go home and get some clothes.”

 

“You didn’t stop to pack?”

 

“I left right from the office. I’m coming back. I promise. But I’ve got to go, and if I’m going to, I should go now.”

 

“Grant,” his mother said helplessly.

 

“Mom, I promise. Tomorrow morning you’ll see me again. I hate to go, but,” _but I really have to get out of here,_ “I don’t have anything with me but the clothes on my back.”

 

“Let me get your things from the bathroom,” Zizi said, subdued. She hurried out and came back with his tie and jacket. “Here.”

 

He kissed her cheek and said, “Do the kids know about me?”

 

“I… haven’t said anything. I didn’t know if…”

 

_If I were even alive._ He started to say something and Zizi said, “No, Roo, just go, you have to, I know you do. You’ll have your phone with you?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Go,” his mother said. “It’s all right, baby. I know you’re coming home again.”

 

_Home._ He wasn’t sure if it was a good word, now, or not. He kissed them both and took his car keys from his pocket.


End file.
